The Wizard Walks By…
“Evil powers…disappear
Demons worry…when the Wizard is near
He turns tears…into joy
Everyone’s happy…when the Wizard walks by”
— Black Sabbath
Make way for the Wizard!
WAY OF THE WIZARD is being released on November 16th, but editor John Joseph Adams (The Living Dead, Lightspeed) has launched a website for the book that features 7 stories ABSOLUTELY FREE.
One of these stories is my own mini-epic “The Thirteen Texts of Arthyria.” You can read it and the rest right here.
The book features 32 stories of mages, sorcerers, wizards, and the like. Of these 18 are brand-new stories. Big-name authors include Neil Gaiman, George R. R. Martin, Peter Beagle, and Robert Silverberg, and many others. (Complete TOC available at the website.)
The strategy here is that reading a few of these seven free stories will influence readers to go out and buy the book… to whet their appetites for wizardry, so to speak. A wise move indeed.
Five years ago, my first novel, Poison Study was published. It came out in hardback with a beautiful red and gold cover that was loosely based on Vermeer’s painting The Girl with the Pearl Earring.
Back in 1995, I’m reading Orson Scott Card’s How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy – because I had written a bunch of short stories that were all soundly rejected and I was thinking perhaps I needed a few pointers (no comments on still having my short stories rejected).

As I write this, I am just now sitting down at my computer in my apartment after coming back home from the World Fantasy Convention in Columbus, OH. I’ve literally tossed down my suitcases on the bed moments ago. My lips are chapped. I am tired.
“Yesterday Was A Lie” is an indie film that indulges in experimental exposition right out of the gate.
Tonight, children go trick-or-treating, and many adults go to Halloween parties, thereby, perhaps, proving Ogden Nash’s line that children get more joy out of childhood than adults get out of adultery. For myself, though, I’ll be counting down the minutes to midnight, scrawling notes and making plans. Because at 12 AM, November 1,
The woman held in one hand a small cigarette-package-sized radio, its antenna quivering. From this sprang tiny copper wires which ended in a dainty cone plugged into her right ear. There she was, oblivious to man and dog, listening to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. This was not fiction.

This post over on the